


Sensitive

by EsculentEvil



Series: EsculentEvil's BatJokes Shots [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub, Frottage, M/M, Manipulation, Molestation, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsculentEvil/pseuds/EsculentEvil
Summary: Joker’s body doesn’t register pain (literally, not at all); but it registers all forms of pleasure (no matter how small); and Batman utilizes that whenever he can.This is basically dub-con, but there isn’t sex; still: read with caution.Originally posted to my Tumblr @esculentevil





	Sensitive

The fist that connects with his face makes him laugh.

It flings him across the abandoned warehouse he’d based his latest operations in ( _It’s like a garage sale!_  he’d told the Bat,  _But with GUNS!_ ) and slams him into a tin wall. His slight body dents the metal and causes it to groan and grumble in his steed as he sinks down to the ground without pain. His body crumples to the floor, a colorful heap of happy, and trembles as his assailant draws closer.

He’s still laughing.

A large, thick hand engulfs his throat and  **squeezes**. It lifts him from his heap and pulls him into a kneel. His breath hitches—air constricted—and his long, slender hands raise to grasp at girthy wrists (Hnnn~ Wonder what  **else** ’s got  _girth_  on this beast... hee hee~!). His giggles are mostly mental—what, with the hand on his throat, and all—but he  **is**  grinning: wide and wicked and winning.

He doesn’t feel anything.

A pair of nostrils primarily hidden by the nose of a unique cowl flare aggressively in response to this. The illuminated eyes attached to aforementioned mask narrow in agitation and the left one twitches as the mad man’s laughter only increases. The tense mouth below both features is gritting and scowling; low growls and snarls emit from it as the frustration grows in the stockier man’s form.

And, then, there is stillness.

It is as though the calm of a storm has come upon them. The ever-seeing eye passing over the dueling duo, lending insight where it centers: above Batman. An idea suddenly shines in his hidden eyes and Joker finds himself twitching as he fights the urge to frown at the unpleasant and foreboding sight.

(Well, this can’t be good....)

And, of course, he is right. A slow, small smile stretches the lips of the beefy man before him and creases the thick skin over his cheeks. Joker’s eyes widen with something close to fright as he recognizes that smile: predatory.

A leg swings out, aiming for any part of that cowl it can reach, but winds up caught and tucked under a strong arm; Joker pales.

“W-wait a m-minute... Batsy~” he wheezes through the hand still clutching his throat. He tries to wrench his leg free (Batsy would never actually choke me so my throat is fine, really.) as he speaks, “Let’s just... I-I’ll tell you... where the g-guns went... and then y-you can... g-get them... and then e-everyb-body’s merry; w-wha’da’ya s-say?”

Batman merely raises a brow, “And you’ll just walk yourself to Arkham?”

Joker’s hackles raise and he almost hisses at the Bat like a cat, “No!”

Batman’s smile turns grim, “Exactly.”

The slighter man gives a soft cry as his slender body is suddenly slammed into the ground. The hand around his throat is the point of force and the back of his head suffers as a result of this. He can feel bruises and contusions forming and is pretty sure he’s getting a concussion.

He still doesn’t feel it.

He wheezes through his nose more than his gritting mouth as he glares up at the Bat holding him down. His vigilante, however, just keeps giving him that grim smile (And they say  **I** ’m the smiley one... Really!), “One last chance, Joker.”

The killer clown snarls, willing himself to be ready, “You h-have my ans-swer!”

“Suit yourself,” is the Bat’s only warning before gloved fingers are suddenly caressing a pinstripe-covered thigh. Joker jolts in alarm, the sensation crashing into his mind like he’d slammed into tin just minutes before, and struggles to shift away from it—from him.

There’s no getting away, though.

The fingers travel farther as the attached elbow adds more pressure to the Joker’s trapped leg, keeping it right where it can’t leave. The clown wriggles and writhes, trying to get out of the larger man’s hold; he fails, of course. The gloved digits tickle the underside of the purple-clad man’s behind—such a light, gentle touch—and the Bat almost smirks when the attached hips buck up.

Joker’s still struggling and scowling.

He finally removes his hands from the girthy wrist they’d been clutching before and grasps at the other wrist farther below. He isn’t really sure why he’s doing this—the chances, after all, of it working are slim to none—but he knows he can’t just...  **let**  what’s happening... happen. (Ugh. Why does his touch make me such an idiot???)

“Where are the guns?” ask the warm lips suddenly by his ear.

Joker blinks and wonders when the Bat got so close to him. His mouth opens to answer, throat constricting and swelling with the words, before reality sears into his brain and snaps his mouth shut. He glares defiantly as the Bat frowns.

The hand moves.

The clown whines as thick digits seem to bury themselves into his posterior's flesh, clenching and unclenching in a deceptively affectionate way. He tugs on the connected wrist, tries to pull it off or away, while flailing his other hand towards his molester’s face. He can only grab an ear, however, as the Batman is leaning over the right side of him and his left hand is what’s aiming to push the vigilante away.

His right hand is still trying—and failing—to get the dark knight’s left off his butt.

“The guns, Joker,” Batman asks again, his voice a deep, low rumble in his captive’s eardrum. Joker would have purred if he were more a willing participant. “Where are they?”

That strong, thick hand starts massaging its way deeper into Joker’s cleft.

The killer clown moans, head falling back and hips bucking with urgency. He tries to remember where he is and why but all he remembers is the Bat. (What did he just say?) Those warm lips prevent him from answering as they trace the curve of his ear, sending a shockwave of tender sparks through his spinal chord and brain.

“I want the guns.”

“The Cauld—” Joker’s eyes snap open (When’d they close?!) as his mouth snaps shut and his throat spasms beneath the hand now simply resting on it (When did  **that**  happen?); he swallows. (Fungus.) Batman pulls back with a satisfied smirk and Joker finds that he can only glare back at him.

“The Cauldren?” the vigilante confirms, “Which means you were selling to Sullivan and Riley.”

Joker growls, not entirely sure if he’s mad about being tricked or, well, the other thing. That large, strong hand is still on his posterior—but it’s not moving anymore; and he  **wants**  it to. “Ba _t_ man...”

It’s a warning and an order and, surprisingly, the Bat follows the command.

Lips are suddenly moving against each other as that wonderfully powerful hand lifts the behind it had been fondling with surprising care. Hips end up against hips and Joker groans wantonly into the orifice encasing his. The hand that had been on his throat now moves into his hair, cupping the back of his head as though to cushion it against farther concussion.

The kevlar covering his Bat’s groin is hard and unyielding but Joker can’t find it in himself to care.

He grinds back against it, moaning harder and deeper, and hooks his leg—the same one that had been trapped—around his captor’s waist. His own hands end up gripping cowl and cape as his entire body undulates with pleasure it can hardly tolerate. The Joker’s body prefers pain—the constant friend that it can understand.

(This... sensation...s ...) just don’t make sense to it.

The release comes unwarranted and unbidden; crashing onto Joker like he broke the surface tension of the acid that birthed him. He cries out, almost sobbing, and seizes against his Bat. The vigilante, inexplicably, holds him close with a tenderness Joker swears is unreal.

The moment his orgasm is done, the villain passes out—his mind and body too overloaded to remain conscious—in the bat-clad civilian’s arms.

He then wakes up in Arkham.


End file.
